The Hero Within
by JWalters
Summary: Jarik, a skilled but disillusioned veteran of the Royal Guard, wasn't gifted enough to be a fully fledged Heroic Warrior. But he is about to discover what it takes to be a true hero when he stumbles upon Eternia's greatest secret and is taken prisoner by Skeletor. Will he betray all that he has spent his life defending? Or keep Prince Adam's secret, no matter what the cost?
1. Chapter 1

**Hi everyone! This is my first attempt at doing this, so apologies for any errors.**

 **I've always liked the idea of switching the main and side characters in an established universe and letting the often nameless supporting roles have their moment in the limelight.**

 **So here it is – the story of Jarik, a veteran of the Royal Guard, played out amidst a clash of good and evil.**

 _ **Chapter One**_

"Throw down, damn you!"

Jarik eyed his opponent carefully and knew he had no other choice. His years of experience as a royal guard had put him in this position more than once, and he knew what he had to do. Stalling for time was merely delaying the inevitable. With a clenched fist, he prepared to make his move.

"I said, _throw down!_ "

Jarik closed his eyes, and opened his fist, letting the pair of die he was holding clatter on to the table.

"Flower of Mercy and a Tarnished blade! I win again!" came the mocking shout from his opponent.

Jarik opened his eyes and looked at the two small hieroglyphs that had signalled his defeat.

"I don't know why I play _Two-die Champion_ with you, Dacker" Jarik smiled courteously at his opponent. "You always beat me."

Dacker returned the smile and picked up his ten sided die. "Because on cold nights out here in the Evergreen Forest, there is little else to do," he suggested.

"That's probably true," Jarik grinned, scratching at the edge of his grey moustache which had barely even been a sprinkling of fluff back when he had started his training to be a Royal Guard. Dacker on the other hand was still young and built like the back side of Grayskull itself, almost as wide as he was tall, with muscles that – if only in appearance – rivalled any of the Masters of the Universe.

Jarik, whilst still well built and strong as an ox, was more slender, especially as he grew older.

Sure, he could still match most of the younger recruits in tests of strength and speed, but he knew that the best of his days were fast moving behind him.

Reaching for his pike-staff, he stood and nodded at Dacker. "I'm going to patrol the tower. I could do with stretching my legs."

Dacker stretched uncomfortably within the confines of his armour and took a log from the pile to place on the fire. "Send Ray down here, I could do with another opponent," he said as Jarik scooped his long grey ponytail on top of his head and pulled his blue-grey helmet on. He grunted a reply as he started his ascent of the stone staircase that spiralled around the inside of the watchtower they were guarding.

He had counted eighty-five steps in an ever decreasing circle around the inner wall when he reached the door at the top of the tower and the cold air hit him like a spiked club as he emerged onto the ramparts. He immediately missed the warmth of the fire he had left behind as he closed the door behind him.

All around the tower, as far as the eye could see the evergreen forest sparkled with frost under the light of the full moon, and somewhere in the distance the call of an owl sounded against the still night air.

"Take a break, Ray-Dun." Jarik said as he approached the guard from behind. His words became a small cloud of fog that hug in the air as he spoke, and he frowned at the guard who stood unmoving at his post. "Go warm yourself by the fire," he insisted warmly. "I'll take over here."

Ray-Dun, one of the few guards who had served as long as Jarik remained still, pike-staff held at his shoulder, seemingly staring out into the distance.

"Ray, what's the matter with you? Stand down. I have the tower. Go warm yourself." Jarik said, drawing closer. "Ray, can you hear me, old frien—"

Jarik's words froze in the air as he drew close enough to see that Ray-Dun's bulky fur-lined armour sparkled with frost, and as he hurried to his friend's side he could see the man inside it was barely a dry husk of the person he had been, his face contorted into a burned look of sudden horror.

"What in all of Eternos?" Jarik cried, reaching out to help his friend, who crumbled to dust under his touch. "Dacker! Dacker get up here!" he called out as the sound of hollow armour falling onto the stone floor echoed into the night.

Armed and ready for action, Dacker launched himself through the door and onto the ramparts just seconds later, ready to face whatever threat Jarik had seen.

"Look!" Jarik said, kneeling down to inspect the dust-filled armour that sparkled in the moonlight.

"What the—" Dacker's breathless words were cut off by a howl that sounded like it belonged to both man and machine combined that filled the air around them, sending an icy shiver down Jarik's spine.

In the distance, the treetops shifted and swayed, and one look with his Thermo-scope was all Jarik needed to see where the howl had come from.

"Look! To the east!" he said, prompting Decker to follow his gaze. As the tree tops moved aside, they could see the top of a monstrous robotic form, almost as tall as the trees themselves making its way through the forest. With another howl, a shoulder cannon rose into place, and a bolt of intense white energy was fired with an eerie silence at a startled flock of birds which turned to dust and fell from the sky under its deathly touch.

"We should inform the Masters," Dacker said urgently. "You are faster than me, Jarik. Take a Sky-Sled. I have watch on the tower. Go!"

Without another word, Jarik launched himself down the spiral staircase so fast that he barely kept his balance as his boots smashed against the wide stone steps. He charged through the ground floor of the tower and out of the door to the clearing where three Sky-Sled had been landed.

The flying machines were each no longer than he was tall, and – as they were designed as an aerial assault vehicle - were little more than a flying energy blaster below a falcon-like figurehead strapped to a turbine, with a seat to perch on and hand grips to control the throttle whilst your own body-weight steered the craft.

Although delicate in their controls, and easy to over-manoeuvre, they were the first aerial vehicle you learned to fly as a trainee, with only a few of the more skilled pilots going on to learn how to handle the much larger and much faster Wind-Raiders.

Jarik was one of those few, and knew that a Wind-Raider would get him to the palace a whole lot faster than the compact flying gun he had in front of him. But it was all he had, and without missing a step, he jumped onto the nearest machine.

Two pushes of the right-hand footplate roared the turbine into life, and a squeeze of the throttle launched the machine into the air almost immediately.

Jarik leaned to his right and banked sharply as he rose above the trees in the direction of the Royal Palace without looking back.

The roar of the creature broke through the air once more, audible even over the roar of the Sky-Sled's turbine engine that howled and whistled as it accelerated.

Ignoring the needle-sharp pain of the icy wind against his skin, Jarik flew harder than he had for many many years, all the while hoping that the creature hadn't turned back to the tower where Dacker now stood alone.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Chapter Two**_

The flight to the palace had taken far longer than Jarik would have liked, and had pushed the Sky-Sled to its limit. Fear had given away to relief as he saw the lights of Eternos City ahead of him, but still he pressed on, despite the whine from the turbine which hadn't been designed to fly for such a long distance as hard as it had been. Even the heat shields that cloaked the turbine engine, protecting the rider who sat almost upon it had started to strain, and Jarik took a standing posture to avoid the searing heat that radiated through the thin seat as he neared his destination.

Still, the image of Ray-Dun's petrified face filled his mind, and a cold shiver - colder even than the night air that he flew though – rocked him as he thought about his friend turning to dust under his touch. Whatever the thing was that he had seen, it had to be stopped.

The lights from the city grew brighter as he approached, ignoring the violent whine of the Sky-Sled as he tore across the sky, sometimes just inches from the rooftops. The royal palace loomed ahead of him and he banked left towards the flat open area of the landing grounds.

Finally, he eased off the throttle slightly and leaned forward, bringing the Sky Sled into a fast, but ultimately controlled descent. He leaned back as he neared the floor to level the craft out and released the throttle completely as he cleared the perimeter wall.

Starved of fuel, the engine shut off just inches from the floor. Jarik was still carrying too much speed as he landed awkwardly, skidding the machine with its now smoking turbine along the landing grounds where he jumped off, leaving it to stop of its own accord in a shower of sparks as it skidded wildly across the courtyard.

"I must speak to the Captain of the Guard at once!" he blurted as two guards who seemed to be barely out of training left their posts at the sturdy double door that led to the barracks and hurried to him. "There is no time to lose," he urged.

"It's the middle of the night," one of the guards said, placing a warm hand on Jarik's ice-cold arm. "She cannot be disturbed, you know that. Come on old man, come get warmed up by the cresset and tell us what's happened," he said, gesturing with a nod to the pitch fuelled basket of fire that hung from a long pole.

"I said there is no _time!_ " Jarik shoved the guard aside roughly and hurried for the door. He had barely covered three or four paces when he was tackled. His knees scratched inside his armour as he fell and through the thick padding of his helmet he felt a dull thud as his head made contact with the flagstones hard enough to leave him disorientated.

"Hold!" one of the guards cried out, but Jarik ignored the command and dragged himself on to all fours as he attempted to stand. He'd been a royal guard since before these boys were even born! What made them think he was going to-

His thought was cut off by a blow to his back from a solid iron mace, painted in royal orange to match their armour. Before he knew what was happening, Jarik was face down on the floor again. "Stop, you fools! I have to-"

"I said _hold!_ " The guard said, lifting the mace again.

A shot from a blaster echoed across the landing ground, and the two guards froze. Jarik looked up to see a young woman with a waterfall of dishevelled red hair standing on a balcony overlooking them, the tip of her blaster still glowing from the heat of the intense energy it had fired. Even when dressed in a thin nightgown and not in full Captain's regalia he'd recognise her anywhere.

"Teela," he murmured.

"What the _blazes is going on?_ " she demanded, the cutting edge in her voice carrying itself easily across the distance between them.

The commotion hadn't gone unnoticed by the soldiers inside the barracks, and the thick, heavy doors opened and a dozen or so guards, each in identical orange armour and blue-grey helmets rushed out, weapons at the ready. They stopped in their tracks as Teela's shout echoed around the courtyard.

At only nineteen years old Teela had been a controversial candidate for the second highest rank in the royal guard, but Jarik had been a staunch supporter of hers. When Dekker, the much loved and highly skilled previous captain had retired, it was known that a Heroic Warrior would take over. Mekanek and Ram-Man had been two favourites, but as the Man-at-Arms' daughter, Teela had been around the soldiers all her life, and many of the older ones such as himself had watched her grow up and become an extremely capable warrior, besting other Heroic Warriors more than twice her size in combat drills. The Heroic Warriors had given their support, and the ranks of the royal guard had followed suit. Some more reluctantly than others.

"It was him, ma'am," the first guard said with a shaking voice, pointing at Jarik who had now pulled himself up to his knees. "We stopped him so you wouldn't be disturbed."

Teela put the blaster down and raised an eyebrow at the guard. "And how do you think that went, when I was woken up by you shouting across the landing area at the top of your voice and the clatter of your mace as you attacked a fellow guard?" She waved the reinforcements away, and they disappeared inside just as quickly as they had appeared.

The guard Teela had spoken to looked at his feet, put his mace on the ground and squeezed his hands together with nervous, twitching movements. He opened his mouth slightly but stopped short of giving a reply.

 _This_ was why Jarik had liked Teela. She was a true born commander if ever there was one.

"You two, against the wall. You, on your feet. I'm coming down," she barked, turning away from the balcony and heading inside.

"Ah crap," the mace-wielding guard muttered as he turned away.

"Nice going, Mendoc." The other hissed under his breath.

Jarik hauled himself to his feet slowly, hindered by a throbbing back and his heavy armour. It wasn't how he'd planned to see Teela, but she was on her way nonetheless.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Chapter Three**_

The sun was starting to rise, bringing the chill of the night to a biting climax, and Jarik was growing increasingly restless. He had told Teela what had happened at the tower in ragged gasps, choking on his own voice as he described Ray-Dun's fate, but instead of ordering an immediate strike force to check on Dakker and find the… whatever it was, she had insisted on summoning Man-At-Arms, where he had no choice but to go through the story again.

Man-At-Arms, as head of the Eternian military knew all too well what it meant to lose a soldier in battle. Jarik had fought alongside him back in the days before He-Man, when Man-At-Arms had been a soldier known by his civilian name, Duncan, and King Randor was _Captain_ Randor – or just 'Randy' to those closest to him.

When He-Man came along, everything had changed. The Heroic Warriors had formed, and mighty heroes, each with their own unbelievable abilities, had stepped out of the shadows from all over Eternia and flocked to the new King's call. Some of them had been mocked, or outcast because of their differences in their home towns, but under King Randor, with Man-At-Arms leading the charge, they had been welcomed and exalted.

The Eternian army had been forced to take a small step back in the presence of such warriors, but still formed a proud orange and green line behind these Masters of the Universe that no evil-doers could cross.

 _So why is it,_ Jarik wondered spitefully, _that with all these great warriors just a single command away, I am being summoned to the palace throne room to tell my story again?_

"We really should be doing something," he muttered, staring sullenly at the giant doors to the great hall that would not be opened until the King was ready to receive him.

"We are doing something," Man-At-Arms said softly. "We can't just rush into this. There are procedures to follow. The King must be notified of Ray-Dun's death." His armour clattered as he shifted his weight from one leg to the other. It had been fashioned from the standard armour of the royal guard, but was more ornate to signify his rank, and carried a few modifications of his own making, such as a small oxygen canister on the chest which fed a breathing mask mounted inside a raised housing on top of the breastplate which could filter out harmful gases and give Man-At-Arms a clean supply of oxygen should he need it. His helmet, which had once been a plain, ordinary helmet as worn by the rest of the guard had been fitted with all kinds of kit, from transponders and communication devices, to a complex targeting system that could slide into place over his eyes at the touch of a button. Jarik had heard rumours that whilst testing this particular gadget he had managed to land a direct hit on a small stone that had been thrown from over a hundred yards away.

But all the gadgets on Eternia wouldn't change his current orders to report to the king.

"And while we are telling the king in person what we could just as easily advise him of in a letter, that _thing_ is still out there, doing who knows what!" Jarik whispered irritably.

"We will find it soon enough, my friend. You said yourself it was heading away from the outpost when you saw it, deeper into the Evergreen Forest, so Dakker will be fine. He won't be taken by surprise, and I'm sure even if this creature—"

"It looked more like a machine…"

"—did turn around and head back to the tower, he would have been wise enough to flee."

"The royal guard do _not_ flee," Jarik spat. "You of all people should know that."

Man-At-Arms turned to Jarik sternly and spoke with quiet authority, his voice barely louder than a whisper. "I know you lost a friend tonight Jarik," he said. "And you have my deepest sympathy. But if we are to deal with this threat effectively, you are to keep a level head. Is that understood?"

Jarik didn't reply, and the silence between them was soon broken by an announcement that the King was ready to see them.

The huge doors, which were at least twice as tall as any man, lumbered open, straining their huge hinges as the two sentries heaved at them.

"Come," Randor called out as the throne room came into view. His voice echoed throughout the expansive room, strong and calm. "I understand you arrived in the night with dark news from the evergreen forest."

"I did, your majesty," Jarik said, stepping into the room with Man-At-Arms just a step behind him, their footsteps echoing off the pink stone floor.

Jarik had only been in the throne room once before, at the King's coronation, and he wasn't surprised to see that all these years later it hadn't changed. Pastel orange walls reached up twenty feet or more to an ornate ceiling, and the thick wooden tables and chairs that usually filled the centre of the room had been pushed aside. On a raised platform at the far end of the room, two matching thrones sat, and in the early chill of the morning, only the left hand one was occupied.

King Randor was a giant bear of a man, and it was easy to see why he had been such a feared warrior before royal duty took him away from the front lines of battle. His thick, long brown hair reached his shoulders, and he sported a full beard, equally brown and thick. With his golden crown perched above his brow, and broad muscles rippling inside his exquisite blue robe, he looked every inch the warrior king. It almost seemed that the elite guard that lined the walkway to the throne were purely for show. Randor was known to be as fearless as he was strong, and Jarik had no doubt that in a melee duel, the king could best all of his elite guard, and then some.

His dark brown eyes followed Jarik's every step into the room, and a discreet tap of a pike staff from the guard closest to the king signalled for the visitors to step no further, and bring themselves to one knee.

"This is Jarik, your highness," Man-At-Arms said, without looking up. "You may remember him as one of our regiment back at the Last Stand of Atrula."

Another discreet tap of the staff brought the men to their feet, and Randor leaned forward peering inquisitively at Jarik. After a few seconds, a smile made its way through the thick beard.

"As I live and breathe," Randor said in wonder, his voice breaking into a chuckle. "You were a veteran even back then! Have we not let you free yet?"

"A guard's life is the life for me, your highness." Jarik said, doing his best to return the smile. "If it please you my lord, the matter I bring to you is of severe urgency."

"I have been advised as to the matter you bring to me," Randor said, and Jarik blinked, taken aback. A glance to his side showed just as much surprise on man-At-Arms' face.

"Then, forgive me your highness," Jarik said sharply, his brows knitted in a frown, "but why aren't we _doing_ anything? Why am I wasting my time here when I could be back at the Evergreen Forest with the fury of the Heroic Warriors at my back to—"

"Peace," Randor said, cutting him off. "I have already sent a platoon to the outpost. Man-At-Arms, you will join them shortly with my son… when he has finally risen from his chamber. It's about time he saw the realities of the world we live in, instead of daydreaming, or whatever he does."

"So… why am I here?" Jarik asked quickly. "I should be back at the tower, helping."

Randor leaned forward and did his best to turn his rugged features into an expression of sympathy. "I asked for you to be brought to me because I am giving you relief from your duties."

Jarik felt his heart sink, and forced a wave of nausea away. There had to be a mistake! "But sir—" he said, and felt his words slip away from him.

"It is not necessarily a permanent discharge - unless you wish for it to be. But I felt that after such a traumatic event as the one you witnessed, especially in a warrior of your…" Randor paused for barely a second to consider his words, "… endurance, it would be a kindness to allow you some time to yourself. Rest easy and trust that the Heroic Warriors will bring this creature to justice. If, after some time to yourself, you choose to return to service, we will have a place for you in the royal academy, so that you may train the next batch of recruits, and with any luck, turn them into warriors of even half your skill."

Jarik shook his head, unable to believe what he was hearing. His head swam, and his legs felt weak, as if his muscles had been detached, and the floor had been taken from under him. "But your highness… my place is on the front lines. It always has been," he blurted, and stepped forward, desperate for the king to change his mind. Two pike staffs immediately crossed in front of him to stop his approach, and for the second time since he returned to the city, he found himself at odds with a pair of guards who eyed him forcefully.

"It _was._ " Randor corrected him. "And I mean no malice in my decision. You have earned this rest Jarik. Ray-Dun, like yourself, was a warrior of the like that we do not see often enough. I don't believe there was anything you could have done to change what happened."

"I never said there was! Whoever dared suggest anything to the contrary is a fool!" Jarik pushed against the pike staffs as rage built inside him, and Man-At-Arms pulled him back forcibly.

Jarik struggled against Man-At-Arms' grip, feeling himself becoming overrun with a hot rage that made his heart thump in his ears. "I may not have been on the tower when the monster attacked, but it is standard procedure to adopt a single lookout formation in the Evergreen Forest. Threats there are few and far between. I did _nothing wrong!_ "

"Which is why I am offering you respite from service, and not having you taken away in manacles. Do not see your years of loyal service marred by an outburst of emotion, Jarik. The decision has been made for your own good, and if you choose to take up a position at the academy at a later date, I will attend to it personally and have you employed there by nothing less than royal decree. But until then, we will deal with whatever threat looms over Eternia, and you will enjoy your honourable release from service as a hero and friend to Eternia. Is that clear?"

"Of course, your _highness_ ," Jarik hissed as he broke free from Man-At-Arms' grasp, turned away and stormed towards the great doors which were being hurriedly opened again.

As he left, he heard the two men continue talking, their voices growing fainter as he left the great hall behind.

"Your Highness, far be it from me to question your wisdom, but—"

"Then don't, Duncan. Just find out what this creature is, and how to stop it. Because somehow I don't think even Skeletor is behind this."


	4. Chapter 4

_**Chapter Four**_

Oblivious to the light hearted music that played throughout the tavern, Jarik sat in a corner, staring forlornly into his tankard. Around him, the patrons went about their evening business, drinking, eating and happily chatting to their friends. Ahead of him, two farmers from nearby Shandor played a game of _Two-Die Champion_ , each smiling and laughing as the die were thrown back and forth.

Jarik sighed bitterly at the game, and took a long drink, not caring that it spilled from his tankard into his greying moustache.

"I'm sorry to hear about what happened at the watchtower. Ray was a good man."

Jarik looked up to see who had spoken, and was greeted by a weathered looking man with dark skin. His hair and beard were as black as any Jarik had seen, and he recognised the man immediately.

"Melaktha," he said, wiping his moustache quickly. "I thought you were still in Morainia?"

The royal archaeologist sat without needing an invitation, and smiled at his old friend. "I left my apprentice Stanlan to continue our exploration and hurried straight back when I heard the news. I thought I might find you here."

"They… they let me go, old friend. I've lost everything," his voice trailed off, and tears formed in the old soldier's eyes. "Worst of all, I failed him, Melaktha. I left Ray on top of the tower to play dice and now…"

Melaktha silenced his friend with a soft grip on his arm, and smiled at him sympathetically. "There was nothing you could have done, Jarik. I've known you since we were both apprentices and you have always been an excellent warrior. Better than I by far. Training beside you is what made me realise I wasn't cut out for the royal guard. I realised I have skills better placed away from the battle-lines."

Jarik hunched down over the table and buried his head in his arms.

"I don't need to have been there to know that there would have been nothing you could have done," he added, hoping his words would soothe his friend.

But instead of being calmed, Jarik sat up and slammed his fist on to the table bitterly, spilling the ale from his tankard. "Then why did they dismiss me?"

Melaktha frowned and placed his hand on Jarik's arm to calm him. "We aren't young men anymore, old friend. This day would have come sooner or later regardless of what happened."

Jarik's eyes brimmed with tears, and he looked desperately at Melaktha. "If I'd have just been up there with him—"

"Then you would have faced the same fate."

"—I could have helped him."

"No." Melaktha shook his head sadly. "I heard what happened. You being there wouldn't have made any difference. The creature you described, it sounds like an Angorr. I can't be sure of course, and I am due to give council at the palace in the morning, but if my suspicions are correct… Believe me, there was nothing you could have done to stop it."

Jarik sighed and took another drink from his tankard. "If I were one of the Masters I could have."

Melaktha took the tankard from his friend and placed it on the table. He looked into Jarik's grey eyes and shook his head slowly. "The Masters aren't like us," he said. "They have powers that are often incomprehensible to regular Eternians. Even skilled warriors such as yourself."

"So the royal guard… we are just fleshy shields? Is that it? Ray-Dun wasn't a Master so he deserved what happened?" he reached for the tankard, and Melaktha pulled it away.

"Your grief clouds your mind, Jarik. Please, you know that's not what I meant."

"I'm sorry we can't all have special skills like you and the Masters," he sneered, snatching the tankard back and downing the rest of the ale before smashing it down on to the table.

As he did, the tavern door burst open, smashing into the wall with a crash that silenced the room.

"Where is he?" A young man with a long brown ponytail held in a black ribbon and a grimace that twisted his face into a look of pure hatred stomped into the tavern. "Where is that traitorous scum?"

Jarik immediately recognised the young man as Torlon, Ray-Dun's first born son. He had known him since he was a babe in arms, and to hear him addressing him traitor was all he could take.

"Jarik, no!" Melaktha's urgent plea fell on deaf ears as Jarik rose to his feet.

"Stand down or I shall call the royal guard!" the tavern owner warned, stepping out from behind the bar.

"You dare call me a traitor?" Jarik growled, and Torlon's hate filled eyes latched on to the former soldier.

The tavern patrons nearest the door crept out quietly, leaving their drinks behind and the others caught in between the two men backed away, pressing themselves against the walls.

"They told me what happened at the tower, Jarik," Torlon barked, clenching his fists to stave off the tears that pressed at his eyes. "You let my father die."

Jarik winced at the words. "Then they lied to you," he said, his voice cracking with despair. "Your father and I were like _brothers_!"

"And you let him die up there alone!" Torlon screamed as he rushed at Jarik with a roar that contained every last ounce of pain and anguish he had inside him.

The veteran warrior made no attempt to dodge or block the assault, but tensed as blow after blow came at him, striking his body, his arms and his face in a flurry of punches so fast it was hard to see where the next punch was coming from.

The attack was softer than he was used to – Torlon was a boy of barely eighteen, and would have stood no chance against Jarik if he'd have chosen to fight back. But each blow felt like a repentance, and he only wished that the boy had bought a mace or a staff – _something_ to make the attack hurt more than he already did inside.

Torlon roared again as Jarik fell under the barrage, sending the table toppling over and despite Melaktha's attempts to restrain the boy, a primal rage was released and sated only by blood and exhaustion as he pummelled the soldier until he could no longer lift his arms.

Finally, Melaktha managed to push him aside, and knelt beside Jarik who looked at him through already swollen and bloody eyes.

"I'm ok," he said wetly, spitting out a mouthful of blood. Torlon had curled on the floor, and was sobbing openly when the tavern master took a breath and approached the scene, armed with a large piece of rough looking wood that he held nervously.

"Leave him be," Jarik whispered, hauling himself slowly to his feet. "The boy deserves no punishment."

"I wasn't planning to punish _him,_ " the tavern master growled. "If I'd have known it was _you_ in my tavern, I'd have done this sooner, traitor."

The makeshift weapon was lifted high and brought down fast, but was easily dodged by Jarik who grabbed it from him as the blow passed.

Immediately regretting his decision, the tavern master backed away from Jarik fearfully.

"I am _not_ a traitor!" he screamed hoarsely to the remaining patrons who looked on in horror at the events in the usually peaceful tavern. "I have spent my life defending you people," he thrust the wood at the tavern master in a jabbing motion, "and _this_ is how I am treated? Well now I know… it was all for _nothing._ " He threw the wood aside and pushed Melaktha away as the archaeologist tried once again to calm him.

As he stomped out of the inn, Jarik saw the now abandoned game of Two-Die Champion, and kicked at the table gruffly, sending the brace of die and half-filled tankards across the room as he stormed out into the evening air.

"You should be ashamed of yourself," Melaktha spat as he pushed past the tavern master. "The young man I can understand – he lost his father last night in the most horrific of circumstances. But Jarik has suffered too, and any of you here that judged him on hearsay should ask yourselves what evils _you_ have faced to keep your loved ones safe. Because that man has given everything he had to defend you. He deserves better than this. If he _were_ a traitor, Randor would have had him hanging in the cells by now." As his words echoed around the otherwise silent room, Melaktha shook his head sadly and trudged out of the door, calling after Jarik who had already vanished in the maze of city buildings.

"Don't do anything stupid, old friend," he muttered uneasily.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Chapter Five**_

With the full moon at is back, Jarik sat unmoving on a small hill overlooking the barracks and landing ground. After leaving the tavern he had wandered around the streets of the city, doing his best to avoid people. The city guard had passed him at one point, a standard two man patrol which had always been Jarik's favourite detail as all the walking gave you little chance to get cold or bored, and there had been an awkward moment of recognition before the guards quickly looked away and hurried down a side alley, doing their best to pretend they hadn't seen him.

Eventually his aimless wandering had led him to the outskirts of the city where he had headed north, partly out of habit and partly from a sense of longing. After a lifetime spent as a military man, what else was there for him than the palace? Without the barracks he had no home, and he doubted any of the city's inns would take him after his earlier behaviour. So, unsure of what else to do, or where else to go, he had settled for the small patch of land that he knew gave the best view over the tall stone walls that marked the boundary of the royal palace.

There he had sat, watching the comings and goings of the palace with a knot in his stomach. Hours earlier the patrols had returned from all over Eternia, and the courtyard had been a flurry of activity as Wind Raiders and Sky-Sleds descended quietly and landed gracefully beside each other. Mechanics had hurried to them, checking the vehicles over and ticking off check-sheets to ensure each was ready to fly again at a moment's notice. The guards from the day-shift had disappeared through the thick wooden doors to the barracks, and the palace night shift – less than a dozen guards usually – had come out and taken positions around the barracks and the ramparts that surrounded the citadel. Tonight though, Jarik had counted at least three times that many. The threat of this _Angorr_ as Malaktha had called it, was at least being taken seriously.

To his surprise, the doors to the barracks had opened again and another platoon of soldiers marched out, each carrying long-range blaster rays. They made their way to a fleet of Atak-Trak's and, in groups of four, took position in the heavily armoured land vehicles, and drove out of the barracks' gates.

"What's going on?" he muttered, getting to his feet and walking down the hill towards the tall perimeter wall with a heightened sense of curiosity. He had barely closed half of the distance, and was no longer high enough to see over the wall when he heard a shout ring out into the night.

"Summon the Masters! The Angorr is heading towards the Mystic Mountains, and scouts report Skeletor and his minions are fast approaching it!"

"We need Wind-Raider pilots. Summon everyone you can, and open the gates. We have another ground unit ready to leave."

"Aye, sir."

A shot of adrenaline coursed through Jarik's veins at the call to arms, and he ran as fast as he could towards the gates in time to see them open and another wave of Atak-Trak's tear past him, their caterpillar tracks crashing and scraping as they manoeuvred at full speed through the gates, kicking up thick clouds of dust behind them.

"Hail!" he called out to the guards posted at the gate, who immediately drew their weapons.

"Who's there?" one of the guards called, straining his eyes to see through the dusty fog that the machines had left in their wake. As the dust settled and thinned, he recognised his former comrade immediately despite the fact he was dressed in civilian clothing. "Jarik!" he said, lowering his weapon, and urging his companion to do the same. "What are you doing here?"

Jarik strode towards the guard with renewed confidence and shook his hand fiercely. "I want to help," he said. "Let me pass. I must to report to Captain Teela at once."

The guard shook his head with an expression of regret. "You know I can't do that, friend. You've been dismissed. You're a civilian now." After an awkward pause, the guard smiled weakly. "I'm sorry."

Jarik shook his head, refusing to accept the idea that he wouldn't be answering the call of duty. "But you need Wind-Raider pilots," he said urgently. "How many could you possibly have at this time of night?"

"All shifts have been recalled. Literally everyone we have will be on duty tonight."

"But… they'll be exhausted! There must be _something_ I can do!" Jarik pleaded, staring through the huge gateway into the courtyard that he could almost feel reaching out to him.

"Everything is under control here," the second guard said bluntly. "We already have more pilots than we do craft for them to fly. So please, leave us be, we have work to do."

"Watch your tone," the first guard sneered. "He might have been dismissed from duty, but he's still the man we loved and respected. He's still our _brother._ " the first guard said sternly.

"Just get inside and close the gates or he'll get us killed next."

The words had barely left the guard's mouth when his partner turned on him and shoved him backwards in an explosion of rage. His adversary regained his footing and squared up to him, giving him a firm shove in return for good measure.

"Hey! Stop!" Jarik warned, squeezing himself in between them. "It's not worth it. If Teela sees you like this you'll both be for the high jump. Now go on – get back to your duties, both of you."

"I was just trying to honour you, Jarik. I don't like the things some of the guys are saying."

Jarik smiled weakly, and placed his hand on the guard's shoulder. "They're just words, my friend. They'll be forgotten before long. As will I."

"But…"

"Good journey, my friend." Jarik said, with a small motion of his hand. It was a common Eternian parting, and it was quickly repeated by the guard as Jarik turned and walked away without looking back.

His words about being forgotten may have been just an offhand comment, but the truth of it stung at his eyes and he felt the small glimmer of hope that he might return to service start to dim, and then fade away completely as he heard the huge wooden gates close behind him.

There was no way he would be joining his comrades in the battle against the creature that killed his friend now.

 _Unless…_

An idea sparked in his mind, and with renewed hope and vigour, he set off running around the perimeter wall, staying close to the base so that the guards on the ramparts wouldn't spot him.

All he needed was a few minutes at the less guarded rear wall that led to the mechanics area, a few good hand-holds in the rocky wall as well as a bit of luck, and he'd soon be on his way to the Mystic Mountains, whether they wanted him or not.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Chapter Six**_

He was a shadow. He was the night itself. Or at least, that was what he hoped as he pressed his back against the rough perimeter wall and held his breath. He closed his eyes and strained his ears to listen for the heavy footfalls of the patrols on the ramparts twenty feet above him. His heart thumped louder than he would have liked, and just as he started to fixate on it, he heard the unmistakable sound of armoured men walking somewhere above him in measured paces. They were drawing closer.

Jarik knew that the increased patrols would be a hindrance to his plan, but it was nothing he couldn't work around, and he waited for the footsteps to grow silent before he turned to face the wall, feeling for his first hand hold.

The rear wall wasn't illuminated by the moon, which was both a blessing and a curse. He'd be harder to see by anyone who might happen to pass by, but it would also make the climb harder than he would have liked. He'd be climbing virtually blind with only enough light to see a vague outline of the stones ahead of him.

Before he even knew what he was doing, he was already three feet off the ground. A lifetime of staying at his physical peak was serving him well as he started to scale the wall, hand hold after hand hold, making the best use of the rocky wall as he climbed higher.

He looked down only once, and was amazed at how much taller the wall seemed now that he was clinging on to it with nothing between him and the ground below.

The muscles in his arms and legs throbbed as he pressed on, sometimes barely an inch at a time as hand holds became less frequent. His hands were burning from the multitude of cuts and grazes he had picked up on the climb, each grip on the rough stone slicing into him like a razor, but his adrenaline and determination pushed him on. Above him, the top of the wall was within reach, and a crack in the stone turret became his target. It offered enough room to get his hand in and pull himself to the top. It was the final push.

With both of his feet and his left hand scarcely supporting him, he reached for the crack in the stone, only to find that even at full stretch, he could barely touch it with his fingertips. It wouldn't be enough.

"No…" he muttered quietly.

The pause in the climb made his legs burn like never before as his entire weight rested on the stone beneath the balls of his feet. There was nothing but air between his heels and the ground.

Jarik scrabbled for a closer hand hold, but already knew it would be hopeless. The tall capping stones of the turret had been shaped and chiselled so that they were deliberately smooth to stop anyone doing exactly what he was attempting. The crack in the capping was his only hope, and he knew reaching it would mean a literal leap of faith. All he could do was jump, wedge his hand in the sharp crevice and hope he had enough strength left to finish the climb.

"Here goes nothing," he whispered, hunkering down tentatively on the balls of his feet whilst saying a silent prayer to the elders.

In his mind he counted down from three and pushed off, reaching for the crevice as the stone beneath his feet crumbled under the force of the jump. There was no going back.

His world seemed to slow down as his fingers drew closer to the crack, and to his amazement his whole hand slid straight in, scraping the rough edges as he made a fist, locking his hand in place.

His sigh of relief was cut short as the momentum of the jump slammed his body into the wall, knocking the wind out of him. Far below he heard the pieces of stone that had given way after his jump hit the floor with a clatter that was thankfully muffled by the grass at the foot of the wall.

The muscles in his arm screamed as they were suddenly forced to take his entire weight, and as he was about to reach for the top of the wall with his left hand he heard the patrol returning.

Their footsteps were shockingly loud in the still night air, and Jarik closed his eyes, wincing against his searing muscles as he hung suspended at the top of the wall by nothing other than his own balled fist which he had wedged in the cracked stone.

As the patrol grew closer he bit down on the shoulder of his tunic, squeezing his teeth together through the fabric to stop himself crying out. His hand may well have been hidden from view inside the stone, but all it would take was the smallest sound as the guards passed just feet away from him on the other side of the wall, and Randor would waste no time in sending him to the cells to rot.

Of course, if his balled fist gave way, it was a twenty foot drop straight down where he'd either meet his end, or be so badly injured he couldn't even hope to escape capture.

 _What was I thinking?_ He cursed himself mentally.

After what felt like an eternity, the footsteps faded as the patrol passed and he summoned every last bit of strength he had left to lift himself high enough to grip the top of the wall with his left hand and free his bloodied right hand from the crack and heave himself over onto the turret.

Breathless and in agony, he slumped against the wall for a moment, looking around to be sure he hadn't been spotted.

No alarms sounded, no footsteps clattered towards him, and – just as he had hoped – the walled off confines of the mechanics area below him was quiet. The only sounds came from the scurrying of soldiers in the barracks and landing area which was far enough away for him to pay it no real attention.

Once he had caught his breath, he wiped his bloodied hands on the rough cloth of his tunic and peered over the inner wall.

The mechanics area was made up of a large hangar in which damaged vehicles were stored until repairs had been completed, and a large open space in front of it where tests were carried out.

As he had predicted, even in times of emergency such as this, no repairs were being carried out at night and a quick scan of the area below told him it was suitably abandoned.

Off to his left, he spotted a break in the inner wall where wide stone steps led to the ground and as he scurried over to them and made his descent, crouched low with his back to the wall to stay in shadow as much as possible, he almost chuckled to himself at how much easier it was to get back to down.

As soon as he reached the floor he ducked low and ran to the rear of the hangar, squeezing himself between the building and the perimeter wall.

Confident the darkness would hide him, and severely weakened from the climb, he took another moment to rest as the next patrol passed harmlessly above him, completely oblivious to his presence on the ground below.

He couldn't say for sure at what point exhaustion had forced him into a slumber, or just how long he had been asleep, but the booming sound of a fleet of Wind-Raiders igniting their huge twin turbine engines in the landing grounds a few hundred yards from his hiding place had jerked him awake.

He gasped in panic and looked around with wide eyes to see if his position had been compromised. A peek around the wall of the hangar reassured him that it was still empty as a strong voice rang out from the landing grounds, almost drowned out by the increasing whine of the engines.

"Fleet One! Clear!"

And with that, the whine erupted into a deafening roar as a fleet of Wind-Raiders took to the sky.

"Ready fleet two. I want them in the air as soon as possible." The voice sounded again, and Jarik knew he didn't have long. The mechanics area may have been deserted and hidden from the landing grounds where most of the activity was taking place, but it could still be seen by the rampart patrols.

If he was to find armour, weapons and a vehicle which he would need to get out of the palace unseen, it would have to be when the noise of the second fleet leaving would mask his own departure.

Another peek around the hangar told him that the rampart patrol was nowhere in sight, and he slid out of the shadows, sweeping the area in search of a vehicle he could borrow.

They couldn't keep him away from battle. Dismissal or not, he owed it to Ray-Dun to find this creature and—

"Hey!"

He had been so intent on finding a vehicle that he hadn't heard the footsteps behind him.

Before he even knew what was happening, he felt the cold hard touch of armour against his neck, and a gloved hand wrap around his face, pressing against his mouth.

"I had a feeling you'd be stupid enough to show up here."


	7. Chapter 7

_**Chapter Seven**_

Jarik squirmed away from the guard's grasp and turned, recognising his captor despite the heavy armour and dim light.

"Dacker!" he whispered gleefully. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be heading out with everyone else?"

Dacker quickly put his finger to his lips with a stern look and hurried to the hangar door, dragging Jarik with him.

"In here," he whispered, opening the door quietly. "If anyone sees you, we're both for the cells."

The pair hurried inside and Dacker closed the door behind them, sealing them in total darkness.

"I got put on security detail after the incident at the tower," he whispered, fiddling with the strap on his helmet as he removed it. "Low level security at that. The Masters got to the tower just after daybreak and I was flown straight back to the barracks and told to take a day off. So now pretty much every guard we can spare are heading after this thing that killed Ray, and I'm sent to patrol the empty mechanics area. Well, _supposedly_ empty. It's ridiculous." Remembering Jarik's fate, he gave a quiet sigh. "Still, it could be worse. I suppose I should be thankful."

"Dacker, I need your help. I've got to get out there. I need armour and weapons."

"Are you mad?" he hissed. "No!"

"I have to do this." Jarik urged, fighting to keep his voice low. "For Ray."

"Why? It won't bring him back. Just leave it." Dacker said gruffly. "I'm surprised you want to help us, anyway. It's no secret that Randor has thrown you on the scrap heap, just like most of the vehicles in here."

Jarik reached for Dacker in the darkness and clamped on to his arm. "I'm not doing it for them." He said quickly. "Dacker, listen, just help me, ok? We can do this together."

"And both end up in the cells? Jarik, you're lucky I'm not handing you over as it is," he said, wrenching his arm away. "If they find us in here, we're done. I've got my whole career ahead of me. I have a wife and child."

"So did Ray." Jarik said sullenly.

In the darkness of the hangar, Dacker rolled his eyes and sighed. "I'm trying to help you here, Jarik. That… thing… you can't take it down by yourself. The Masters have been summoned and they are ready to leave," Dacker whispered urgently. "So I don't know how you got in here, but you have to forget this nonsense and get back out the same way, right now. Because if you don't, I'll have no choice but to—"

Jarik had heard enough, and his swift powerful punch took Dacker completely off guard, dropping him to the floor like a stone.

"I'm sorry, brother," he whispered, setting to work on removing the armour from Dacker's unconscious body. "But if you aren't going to help, then you're just getting in my way."

Removing a full set of armour, including the green body-suit that all guards were required to wear, had been harder than Jarik had expected. As had dragging his friend to the back of the hangar and finding something to gag and tie him with in the complete darkness. He'd felt a pang of guilt at first, and putting the armour on had stirred up the anger and resentment towards the royal guard that tore at his emotions. The guard was all he'd known. It had been his life, and now he hated himself for feeling secure and safe in their armour.

He shook himself mentally and focused on the task at hand.

He had armour. He had a weapon. Now all he needed was a vehicle, and he highly doubted he would find one that worked in the hangar. He only had the sense of touch to go by, but so far all the vehicles that he had come across had felt like they were in various stages of repair, and none of them felt like they were anywhere near ready to fly.

He was inspecting a Sky-Sled at the back of the hangar that he thought may just be salvageable when suddenly the door opened slowly.

With a tingle of nerves and adrenaline, he ducked down behind a mass of tangled machine parts and held his breath. It couldn't have been a guard. He'd have heard the scraping and crashing of the thick armour plates as they approached. _So_ , he wondered, _if it's not a guard, who would_ —

"Hello?" a voice called out nervously.

Jarik recognised it instantly, and froze. The soft, gentle voice could only be that of Adam, the sixteen year old son of King Randor and crown prince of Eternia.

"Well, this place should do the trick," Adam said in a casual tone that suggested he was talking to himself.

Jarik moved smoothly and silently, peering out from behind his cover. The prince was known to be a dreamer and a coward, but good natured and loyal to his family. If he saw him in here, especially with Decker bound and gagged, he wouldn't hesitate to raise the alarm.

On the other hand, if he _didn't_ see him, Jarik could only guess how long Adam would hide in the darkness of the hangar, well away from the commotion in the barracks.

 _Your family send good men out to defend them, and you hide in here like a coward!_ Jarik thought, glaring venomously at the prince, whose thin silhouette he could just make out in the open doorway. _Perhaps I should knock you out, too…_

Adam pulled the door closed and darkness filled the room again. The metallic scrape of a sword being drawn from a sheath almost made Jarik chuckle as he wondered what the young, faint-hearted prince planned to do with it.

But when the Adam spoke again, the nervous softness to his voice had gone.

"By the power of Grayskull!"

Light filled the hangar, and Jarik ducked away, shielding his eyes as arcs of pure energy fired across the expansive room in all directions, making the air tingle and his hair stand on end. A sharp scratching sound like a waterfall of nails mixed with cracks of muted thunder rang out, echoing in the confines of the hangar as the trails of light whipped around, wildly out of control.

Jarik forced himself to look again, despite the blinding light and was amazed to see the energy that filled the room was focused on the huge sword that the prince held in the air, although whether the energy came from, or was going to the sword, he couldn't tell.

Suddenly the noise and light dimmed, as if Jarik were in the eye of a storm. The prince was still standing with his sword in the air, but even as Jarik watched, his young, frail looking body was changing.

Adam had already grown at least eighteen inches in height, and now his arms and legs were beginning to shimmer. Weak muscles seemed to split and grow, filling them with the type of muscles that even Dacker would have been proud of.

It was only when Jarik looked to the prince's torso that he realised his usual pink and white attire had transmogrified into a broad harness, the same blue-grey colour as the royal guard's helmets, whilst his body ripped and swelled impossibly as muscles stretched and grew beneath it.

The person that brought the sword down across his solar plexus was no longer the young, cowardly prince. Even though he was seeing it with his own eyes, Jarik couldn't believe it, but in place of the prince stood…

"I have the _power!_ "

…He-Man. The most powerful man in the universe.


	8. Chapter 8

_**Chapter Eight**_

The shadows that had jerked violently in all directions around the hangar faded as Prince Adam's transformation into He-Man concluded, allowing the darkness and silence to return.

With his ears still ringing from the sound of raw energy pulsing all around him, Jarik sat back against a wrecked pile of machinery and tried to settle his racing mind.

Had he really just seen Eternia's cowardly prince become its most exalted hero? Who else knew about this?

The sound of the door opening broke him from his thoughts, and he knew that with He-Man joining the search for the Angorr, it wouldn't be long before the Masters took flight.

He could wonder about He-Man later. Right now, the window of opportunity to find a vehicle and leave the palace unseen was closing fast.

Grabbing Dacker's helmet from the floor beside him, he stood quietly and fumbled his way through the darkness to the door. It took him a moment to find the handle and as he eased it open, wincing as a slight grinding sound echoed in the expansive room. Trying to keep the noise of his loose armour to a minimum, he paused in the doorway and hoped that enough time had passed for He-Man to have left the area.

A quick scan of what little he could see outside steeled him, and he took just a moment to pull his long hair on to the top of his head and slide Dacker's helmet on, securing it with the thick leather chin strap. In a transformation of his own, Jarik left behind the old man who had been shunned by those he admired and respected, who had recklessly broken into the grounds of the royal palace and seen Prince Adam become Eternia's champion, and with a final adjustment of the helmet became Jarik of the Royal Guard once more. Dacker's armour was larger than he was used to, no matter how tight he made the straps of the chest piece, and the straps on the arms may as well have been non-existent as the thick, fur lined plates slid around loosely.

Where many guards had husbands, wives and children at home to embrace them and make them feel safe, Jarik had always lived on the barracks and had his armour to hold him tight and soothe his heart. The loose fitting plates he wore now may have denied him that comfort, but as long as he kept out of everyone's way he hoped it would give him a little freedom to move around the barracks without having to hide in the shadows.

Straightening himself so he stood tall and confident, he gripped the double handed blaster he had taken from Dacker in the standard patrol position, diagonally across his body with the barrel pointed towards the floor, and started to cross the compound. A quiet clatter of armour above him signalled a turret patrol passing, and he was instantly relieved that they paid no attention to him. He'd been ready to turn and run just in case, and as he looked around for an escape route, trying to make it look like he was performing a standard patrol sweep so as not to arouse suspicion, he spotted a beaten up looking Sky-Sled in the corner of the compound.

It didn't look in the best shape, but it was complete and in one piece. It was certainly better than nothing.

As he crossed the exposed yard and drew closer to the wreck he allowed himself a smile of recognition - the Sky-Sled he approached was the very same one he had flown back from the tower. He knew it was battered, scratched and maybe down on power, depending on how badly he had burned the turbine, but it would at least be flyable.

From the landing grounds he heard the familiar banging of Wind-Raider engines firing - it was now or never.

Despite wanting to gratefully run to the machine, he continued walking slowly, knowing that the patrol wasn't yet out of sight. He paused next to the machine and glanced up through his eyebrows, discreetly watching the turret patrol as they headed away from him.

Their heads bobbed in an unheard conversation, and Jarik curled his lip at them in disgust.

Eternos was supposed to be on high alert, and there they were, chatting as they strolled the ramparts almost leisurely. It was no wonder they hadn't seen him enter. _They dismiss me, and surround themselves with incompetent fools,_ he thought bitterly.

With the patrol no longer in sight, he bend down and lifted the front of the Sky-Sled and dragged it around to face the perimeter wall as quietly as he could before sliding on to the seat. His stolen armour may not have felt as comfortable as he was used to, but the thin padded seat of his Sky-Sled was as familiar and welcoming to him as his own bed.

Jarik's body surged with adrenaline as a single press of the right-hand footplate brought the electrical systems to life, and a small light on the control panel told him that the ignition system was active. He said a silent thank you to the elders and leaned forward, readying himself for take-off. All he could do now was wait, and hope that the Sky-Sled turbine was still able to fire up, and the rampart patrol stayed away.

The Masters leaving in the second fleet of Wind-Raiders would mask the comparatively quiet whine of the small single turbine, but the incompetent passing patrol would still sound the alarm, and worse than being caught in the grounds by a guard, being caught trying to leave now would mean he had the most powerful warriors in all of Eternia on his tail, flying far superior machines to his humble, battered Sky-Sled.

"Fleet two! Clear!" The call was carried on the whine of turbine engines, and as the sound built to a ground shaking crescendo, they roared away one by one.

Jarik looked off to the sky above the landing grounds, watching as the white-hot afterburners of one, two, then three Wind-Raiders fired off into the air, growing smaller by the second as they roared away.

With just three more Wind-Raiders making up the second fleet, Jarik took a breath and tapped the right hand footplate again, bracing himself for the sudden forward momentum. At first nothing happened and as the fourth Wind-Raider roared away, his heart felt like it had turned to stone and dropped into his stomach.

"Come on, old friend," he said quietly. "Don't let me down now." He pressed the footplate again as the engines of the final two Wind-Raiders echoed around the palace. To his surprise, the turbine that had fought so hard for him before roared into life again and he was propelled forward instantly.

A less skilled pilot with a little less luck might have careered into the perimeter wall, but Jarik managed to lean back in time and apply enough throttle to send the Sky-Sled rocketing over the wall and off into the night, unseen and unheard.


	9. Chapter 9

_**Chapter Nine**_

Jarik had lost sight of the Wind-Raider fleet not far outside Eternos, but he knew they battle wouldn't be hard to find. As he drew closer to the sounds of blaster fire that rang out from the Evergreen forest over the now desperate whine of his Sky-Sled, he dipped low and prepared himself for an aerial assault. There was no sign of the Angorr here, but as he circled a large clearing in the trees, he could see the Masters and the royal guard had engaged Skeletor's forces, with any battle lines long since abandoned as the fight descended into the chaos of melee combat.

An aerial assault would be useless with the two sides so close together.

He circled once more, scanning the dark night sky to ensure Skeletor hadn't sent reinforcements by air and dipped lower, looking for a place to land. As he relaxed his grip on the throttle, the turbine spluttered, throwing out a thick cloud of black smoke.

"That's not good…" Jarik muttered, knowing that his hard-working Sky-Sled was now flying far beyond its limits.

The turbine spluttered again and spat out a burst of flame that erupted with an ear-piercing bang above the battlefield.

"So much for being covert!" he groaned as the ball of flame shot across the sky behind him, chased by more thick black smoke that spewed from the turbine which wailed as it lost all power, forcing the Sky-Sled into a dive.

Jarik wrestled for control, shifting his body-weight around the craft in an attempt to manoeuvre it into a soft landing. Tree branches slapped at his body as the machine fell from the sky, and Jarik knew that any chance of control was lost. The thick evergreen trees had slowed the fall, but not stopped as he had hoped it would. As the ground drew closer, Jarik leapt from the seat, grabbing at the branches as he rushed past them.

As he found purchase on one of the lower branches, he heard the Sky-Sled hit the floor, followed by an ear-ringing pop of electrical discharge as the blaster mounted on the front of the craft was crushed.

The sounds of battle were louder than ever, and the battle inured Jarik felt like he had returned home. This was what he did best, and once he had helped force Skeletor's minions into a retreat, the search for the Angorr could start again.

"This is for you, Ray," he whispered, swinging himself out of the tree and charging towards the battle.

As he reached the clearing he saw that the last of the usually organised ranks of guards had lost control, and the battlefield had descended into a mere brawl. The Masters fought hand-to-hand and weapon-to-weapon with Skeletor's retinue, whilst the guards pitched themselves against Skeletor's lower minions, the Skelcons.

He had no idea where these creatures had originally come from. They weren't of a race that he had seen anywhere else on Eternia, but they were savage fighters, and completely devoted to the Lord of Destruction.

They wore no armour over their light blue skin, save for the thick purple hair that covered their torso and head. Huge horns rose up from the fur atop their head, and their skeletal faces poked out of the fur – long beastlike snouts home to rows of small serrated teeth as sharp as any Eternian blade, and pin-prick yellow eyes that sat inside eye sockets which were so recessed that thick shadows filled them.

Ahead of him the Masters were moving away, already forcing Skeletor's men into a reluctant retreat, whilst the guards continued the fighting in the clearing, pushing the Skelcons back at a slower rate.

Looking for a place to join the battle, he spotted a guard that had been forced onto his back as a Skelcon stood over him, poised to attack. With a roar of defiance, Jarik charged, ducking his head down as he cannonballed into the monster.

He felt a reassuring thud as he connected with the thick fur and as soon as the Skelcon lost balance Jarik drew his blaster.

One shot was all it took at such close range, and even as he looked around for his next target, the stench of burning fur filled his nostrils.

With the creature's body still thrashing around his firmly planted feet, Jarik twisted to his right with the blaster raised, squeezing off three shots in quick succession. He then pivoted to his left, spotting a new target as more shots were fired, and more Skelcons fell.

Allowing his instincts and training to take over his body, Jarik launched himself into a forward roll as he heard the snarl of a Skelcon behind him. Hindered by his over-sized armour, he twisted back clumsily to his target and squeezed the blaster trigger almost blindly.

The Skelcon, which had been just inches from where he had stood was hit by the intense blue beam of energy and fell back, burning and screaming.

Without hesitation he launched himself back to his feet, blood coursing through his veins, feeding his eager muscles. Through the pandemonium around him he locked eyes with a Skelcon who immediately set to running at him.

In the thick of the fighting, he knew a blaster was a foolhardy weapon, so Jarik steeled himself and met his opponent square on. Tooth and claw met with armoured hands and feet as they scuffled, and it wasn't long before Jarik had the upper hand. The Skelcon's attacks were frenzied and furious, growing more intense with every parry and block. With a roar of frustration, the Skelcon snapped his jaws forward and Jarik met the blow with his head, feeling the snap of tooth and bone on his thick metal helmet. A small twist of his waist was all it took for the now injured Skelcon to fall forwards, and Jarik caught him by the horns as he fell, despatching him with a twist of the head that ended the fight in a crunch of bone.

The next one was on him just seconds later, rushing at him seemingly from nowhere, knocking him on to his back. It was how the Skelcons fought best, and the sight of the huge jaws coming down whilst the muscular, fur covered body held you to the floor was the last thing that a great many guards ever saw.

Jarik bent his arm across the Skelcon's neck to keep the jaws at bay, and raised his knees to brace himself against the body and his mind raced for a way out as the Skelcon writhed against him, snapping its jaws, spraying him with hot sticky saliva that was tinged with blood.

With his free hand, Jarik reached for his blaster and angled it up towards the Skelcon who exploded in a mess of fur and gore as the energy blast tore through him.

Jarik groaned with exertion as he threw the body from him and took a moment to catch his breath. A terrified scream to his right jerked him back into action, and he turned to see a guard prone on the forest floor, just as he had been moments earlier. The Skelcon that attacked the guard snapped and clawed at his armour, and Jarik raised his blaster, ready to fire.

The guard reached up, pushing at the Skelcon's snout in an effort to keep it away, losing several fingers in the process amidst the flurry of teeth as his legs flailed wildly beneath the beast.

Jarik felt his heart slow as he focused his vision down the blaster's sights, looking for a shot, but each time he went to squeeze the trigger he would find the guard's own hands or legs in the way.

With no other choice he lowered the blaster, got to his feet as quickly as his armour would allow and was about to take off in a run towards the fallen guard when he heard a whistling noise close behind him. He ducked quickly and turned to see a fist-sized flying machine turn in the air and zoom back towards the tees. It resembled a metallic bird skull, with two stubby wings mounted on either side. Small fans fitted into the wings controlled the contraption as it whizzed and whirred around, observing the battle. With no idea to which side the contraption belonged, and with no immediate threat from it, Jarik turned back to the fallen guard who cried out as his strength gave way.

The Skelcon's relentless attack finally succeeded, and Jarik could only watch the monster bit down through the guard's neck, covering its skeletal muzzle in gore.

In the distance, a horn sounded and the army of Skelcons immediately stopped fighting and scattered in all directions.

Jarik had seen it many times before – Skeletor and his men were retreating. As he watched the Skelcons disappear into the forest, both he and the rest of the royal guard knew that once the beasts entered the trees, there was no point in giving chase. Unburdened by heavy armour, the Skelcons would be impossible to catch.

Within seconds the clearing was only occupied by the royal guard. They gathered in small groups, chests heaving, bleeding from various wounds and looking bewildered as they checked on each-other's welfare, searched for missing comrades amongst the bodies, and tended to those in need of aid.

With hands still shaking from a mixture of adrenaline and exertion, Jarik fumbled with the strap on his helmet and removed it, dropping it to the floor as he fought to catch his breath.

The art of battle still came as naturally to his mind as it ever did and although his body had never failed him, it wasn't as quick to recover as it once was. His mind wandered to his younger days, fighting alongside Ray-Dun, and how they would be the first to begin helping the wounded, brushing off the rigors of battle as easily as they brushed the dried mud from their armour.

"Are you alright, brother?"

Jarik nodded in reply and looked up to see an older guard approach him. He too had removed his helmet, and he held out a water bottle.

"Thanks," Jarik took the bottle and gulped from it, swallowing the tepid water quickly to wash away the taste of blood in his mouth.

"Thank _you_ ," he said quickly. "I'd have been done for if you hadn't gotten that beast off me. That was quite a charge!"

"I couldn't help him, though," he said sadly, gesturing to the fallen guard nearby.

"We can't save everyone," the older guard replied kindly as he took the bottle back from Jarik and took a drink for himself. "Come on, let's get back to the Atak-Traks and join the Masters. I'm sure they'll need our hel—"

" _Traitor_!"

The furious shout interrupted the older guard and in a blur of green and orange, Jarik was knocked from his feet where he landed on his back, winded.

Before he even had time to defend himself, a young red-faced guard was pummelling him, fists slamming into his face as he struggled to get his breath.

The assault had lasted only a few seconds before the older guard had wrenched Jarik's attacker from him, but it had left him far more bloodied than the last time it had happened to him in the tavern.

His head swam and lungs burned as he lay gasping on the floor. He felt a sharp kick to his legs as the attacker tried to squirm away from the older guard's grasp, and by the time Jarik had managed to sit up, a crowd had gathered around him, all speaking at once.

"It's him!"

"What's he doing here?"

"Come to kill us I expect, like he did Ray-Dun."

"He came to help us – didn't you see?" The older guard's question was drowned out by the others, who grew more numerous by the second.

"I saw him let Danlen die – he just stood there and watched it happen."

"No…" Jarik said weakly.

"He's a coward and a murderer!"

"No!" he barked, louder this time, pushing himself to his feet as he felt a hot burning rage build inside him. "I've been a defender of Eternia since before most of you were even _born_ , and you all dare to call me a coward and a traitor?"

"Look! Look at him! He's got Dacker's armour on!" the red-faced guard yelled. "He probably killed him too!"

"No… I—"

"Murderer!"

Jarik wiped the blood from his eyes in time to see the older guard, who had sensed the brewing atmosphere and stepped closer to him, being pulled away as the crowd descended on him.

Before he even knew what was happening his body exploded in pain as punches and kicks rained down. His cries of innocence grew weaker and weaker as he was beaten and dragged around on the floor only for it all to begin again as the feverish crowd lost themselves to hysteria.

"Fools! I… tried… to… help… you…" he said through broken teeth as the assault continued. His arms were wrenched and jerked as the mob pulled at him, each trying to land a blow of their own, and when he thought he could take no more, he longed for the sweet, black peace of unconsciousness.

The red-faced guard brandished his mace, and began to beat at Jarik's borrowed armour which dented with each blow, causing wave after wave of agony to rip through his already overwhelmed body.

"Kill him! Kill the traitor!" someone yelled as he was hauled weakly to his feet. His legs bowed, and his arms, which had been torn from their sockets, refused to move and help steady him.

"I'm… not… a…"

Jarik's sentence was finished by the young guard with the mace. One swift blow to his head, and the veteran warrior crumpled to the floor, unmoving.

Above the mob, the fist-size flying contraption whirred as it adjusted its position. Three sharp cameras and bank of sensitive microphones had picked up every detail of the attack and as the crowd moved away, leaving the fallen warrior beaten and lying in a pool of his own blood, it withdrew almost silently and headed back to its creator.


	10. Chapter 10

_**Chapter Ten**_

Somewhere deep in the back of his mind, Dacker heard the distant scraping of a door opening.

In his dream he was back at the tower, and the door to the ramparts he had been trying to hold closed had finally opened. Ray-Dun stood in the doorway, his twisted, ashen face hungered for him. Dacker had tried to jump back, but couldn't move. Somehow his arms and legs had been bound, and the tower had become a cold, dark room. Something sharp pressed in his back, and Ray-Dun called to him in the darkness.

"Dacker…."

He squirmed against his bonds, and the thing that used to be Ray-Dun touched his shoulder.

" _Dacker!_ "

He awoke with a start, jumping at the voice of the mechanic who had found him bound and gagged, and squirmed away from the final remnants of his nightmare with wide, frightened eyes. The sharp, twisted metal of the broken machinery he had been leaning against scraped across his skin, and the mechanic squatted down beside him, touching his shoulder just as he had done moments before, and untied the gag which was now wet with spittle.

"Dacker, it's ok, it's me, Landren. What happened to you?"

"Jarik," he sighed as the mechanic cut away the ropes that bound him. "Jarik happened to me."

With his arms free, Dacker rubbed at the red marks around his wrists. "I caught him here last night… at least, I think it was last night."

Landren nodded as he freed Dacker's legs. "You were on patrol here last night. With the Masters and an army of troops out trying to find some creature or another, I guess no-one noticed that you didn't sign out. So what's this about Jarik? I noticed his Sky-Sled had gone."

Dacker sighed and got to his feet, stretching. "We need to tell the Masters." He said quickly.

"Tell the Masters _what?"_ Man-At-Arms asked as he stepped into the hangar with Prince Adam in tow. Both looked like they'd been up all night, and although Man-At-Arms was usually always in full armour, this morning he wore only the green body suit and what looked like a spare, rather plain chest-piece.

Dacker and Landren turned in surprise and greeted them quickly, both bowing before the young prince, whose long blonde hair looked unkempt and dirty despite his clothes being pristine.

"Last night," Dacker said urgently. "Jarik came back. He overpowered me in here and knocked me out. The next thing I know, I've woken up bound and gagged"

"His Sky-Sled which was due for repair is missing as well," Landren added quickly.

Man-At-Arms looked at the floor sadly for a moment, and Dacker understood why. He'd seen that face a thousand times. He'd even made it himself more than once. It was the face of someone who had bad news for a family member or friend of a guard.

"What's happened?" Dacker asked, the words almost tripping over themselves to get out.

"Landren, would you excuse us?" Man-At-Arms asked. "I need to speak to you later in regards to repairs to my chest piece, but it seems we have a far more pressing issue."

"If you like, I could collect it and work on it in my personal workshop?" he suggested as he tactfully headed for the door.

"Thank-you," Man-At-Arms said, and waited until the door closed, still wearing a sad, expression. Prince Adam on the other hand was masking a look of panic. His skin had paled, and he glanced at Man-At-Arms nervously.

"When did this happen?" the prince asked, a little too quickly. "Tell me what you remember."

"What is it, Adam?" Man-At-Arms asked, and it seemed to Dacker that he too had picked up on the prince's strange demeanour.

"I'm fine, Duncan. I just want to get to the bottom of this. If this Jarik has attacked one of my father's guards, then it lends credence to what the others have said."

Dacker was about to answer Adam when he paused, realising he'd never actually addressed the prince directly before. The royal heir was about a third his size and from what he'd seen, friendly enough. But at that moment Dacker felt more nervous of him than he had any of his enemies.

"If, err… If it please your highness," he said, softening his voice. "I remember the first fleet of Wind Raiders had left, and the Masters had been summoned. I was on my standard duty patrolling the mechanics area when I found Jarik within the grounds. The next thing I know, I've woken up here, with no armour or weapon. I can only assume he took them."

"He did." Man-At-Arms confirmed. He also took the Sky-Sled, which somehow got him to the battle, where, from what I understand, he fought alongside us for a time."

"For a time? I don't understand?"

"Well, I can't seem to get a clear answer from anyone, but it seems once Skeletor retreated, there was an altercation of some kind. Most of the men say Jarik was killed, which in itself could be a separate matter entirely, however when we went back for him, his body was gone."

Dacker felt his world slide out from under him. "Killed?" he asked incredulously. "By who?"

"By _whom,_ " Man-At-Arms corrected him. "And we don't know all of the details yet. Seeing as we couldn't find his body, we can only assume the reports are mistaken."

"Jarik may be old, but he's as tough as they come." Dacker said confidently. "I'd wager he is still alive somewhere."

"That's what worries me," Adam said. "Even if we can't get any sense from the guards about the altercation in the Evergreen forest, we know for sure he broke in to the palace grounds and attacked a guard when he was caught, which means we have to consider him an enemy."

"With all due respect your highness, I wasn't wounded." Dacker said. "If Jarik was an enemy, he'd have done more than tie me up and leave me in a dark hangar. I admit I was overpowered because I was caught off-guard as I considered him a friend. Despite this, I still do."

"Perhaps you shouldn't." Adam said sternly, and turned to Man-At-Arms. "Because if he was in here last night before the He-Man showed up, he could turn out to be a bigger threat than this Angorr."

"Before He-man showed up…?" Man-At-Arms asked, and Dacker noticed his face pale, just as the prince's had.

Adam nodded grimly in reply. "We need to find him. _Now_."


	11. Chapter 11

_**Chapter Eleven**_

Jarik couldn't focus.

The unconsciousness he had longed for had been come in fleeting bursts, interrupted by flashes of pain, feelings of motion and, most recently, voices he didn't recognise.

Then, just as reluctantly as it had arrived, it was gone, leaving behind only nausea and a sharp pain in his shoulder. The bed on which he lay was soft and comfortable, and he had slept for a time. But the dreams had served only to torment him with the betrayal of his friends, replays of his glory days alongside Ray-Dun, and worst of all, he had dreamed of Meera.

She had been as beautiful in his dream as she had been in life, back when they had been young, in love, and had their lives ahead of them.

But that was before the son they had wished for had taken her from him, and followed her into death shortly after.

He had never loved again, and none of the many injuries he sustained on the battlefield would ever match the pain that he had felt from that day forward. The scars of that day may have healed as the decades passed, but the tormenting dream was a black dog that dug into his mind and unearthed them, opening them up and letting the pain they held back flow freely again, rousing him from his slumber.

His eyes were open, but he saw nothing. It was as if everything in the world had been replaced with a static white background, and for a moment he lay still, wondering if he had indeed been killed on the battlefield.

If this was death, it was kind.

He seemed unable to move, and unable to see, but at least the dreams were gone.

"Hello?" he called out, wondering if this was all there would ever be, or if Meera would be here to greet him.

His thoughts of death were immediately put aside when he heard the sound of a metallic item being placed on a metallic surface somewhere close beside him.

"Welcome back."

Jarik frowned. It was a man's voice, but he didn't recognise it. Although there had been a softness to the tone, it seemed strained, as if empathy were a language he was only beginning to learn.

"I… I can't see. Who are you?"

Jarik felt his head being lifted as the stranger spoke again. "I can help with that."

A tugging sensation rotated around his head which Jarik realised was a bandage being unwound.

"I can't move either…"

"You've been restrained for your safety and mine. Just until we can establish an understanding."

"An understanding? What do you mean?"

As the final piece of bandage was unwound from his eyes and his vision returned, he suddenly understood. Looking back at him was a man with a battle worn face, whose eyes had long since been replaced with a rotating green disc containing three cybernetic eyes of different colours that looped around his head.

"Tri-Klops!"

Skeletor's henchman stepped back and placed the bandage into a container. "Like I said – an understanding."

Jarik struggled against his bonds as best he could, but his body was weak and his right arm, which was covered with a thin white cloth, refused to move at all.

"What have you done to me?" he yelled, looking around to try and work out where he was.

The ceiling above him looked like a cave made of jagged blue-green rocks lined with veins of a pink and black mineral, but the room itself looked like a high-tech, pristine workshop. Monitors and control panels lined the walls, and the floor was lined with a pimpled light grey metal. It reminded Jarik of a nightmarish version of Man-At-Arms own workshop back at the palace.

Tri-Klops returned to the seat at his work-station and picked up the delicate screwdriver he had been holding when Jarik had first called out.

"Well, I saved your life, for a start," he said blankly. He made no attempt to look at Jarik, although with three eyes equally spaced around the disc, he may have already been looking at him for all he could tell.

"But…"

"Your comrades – they beat you and left you to die back there. I'm simply curious as to why," he said as he poked and prodded at a small mechanical actuator.

"How do you know that?"

Tri-Klops stopped working on the mechanism and turned his head towards Jarik. "My Doomseekers see everything," he said, pointing to a small flying contraption hovering around his shoulder which, until then, Jarik had been too overwhelmed to notice. "It seems you had an encounter with one when it almost hit you on the battlefield. My apologies for that. There was a temporary guidance issue."

"That… flying thing was yours? Why didn't it attack me?"

Tri-Klops grinned at the notion. "Doomseekers are designed solely for surveillance. Anything more, such as outfitting them with any kind of weaponry would make them far too heavy and cumbersome to be manoeuvrable, not to mention the noise. The rotors would need to be considerably bigger to generate enough lift to compensate for the additional weight, making any kind of stealth an impossibility." He returned to working on the actuator with delicate movements that Jarik would never have imagined a man of such bulk would be capable of.

He wore a green tunic-like piece of armour, which protected his shoulders and upper body, joined to a vertical orange band that held the bottom section of armour, a thick belt of sorts around his lower stomach. The colouring and smooth texture of the armour reminded him of his own, which was now in a carefully ordered pile on the floor.

"Now," Tri-Klops said, keeping up his soft tone. "I have been open with you and told you about my secret surveillance drones. I would appreciate it if you told me why your friends tried to kill you. I don't need the details if you do not wish, but it does present somewhat of a dilemma." He placed the actuator and the screwdriver down again and turned to Jarik, leaning towards him curiously. "Is the enemy of my enemy my friend? Or are you, as my colleagues believe, just a very dangerous man that should have been left out there to die in the mud?"

"They are not my enemies," he huffed, straining against the bonds again, looking around for something to aid his escape. "You and your kind are."

Tri-Klops chuckled this time. "Really? Because from where I'm sitting, they tried to kill you, and I saved your life. Does that not now make us, at the very least, neutral with each other?" He paused and added politely, "also, please refrain from trying to free yourself. Those bonds are hardened Nano-steel. He-Man himself would have trouble destroying them."

Jarik slumped back and stared at Tri-Klops sceptically. "What you say _is_ true," he admitted. "They did attack me. But that does _not_ make them my enemy. They are merely fools who, since the death of a guard recently, are quick to anger and slow to comprehend. Grief and shock has blinded them."

"Ah yes, the guard at the tower," Tri-Klops said, tapping his chin. "I thought I'd seen you somewhere before."

"That was _you_? _You_ killed Ray?" Jarik clenched his teeth in anger as he pressed against the hard metal restraints with everything he had, but found his right arm still unable to move. Even if he did break free, his weapon was nowhere to be seen, and Tri-Klops' own sword, a giant claymore with a blade as thick as his arm hung on the wall, within easy reach of its owner.

Tri-Klops ignored Jarik's struggle and casually pointed to the Doomseeker at his shoulder in reply. "I had a Doomseeker tracking the monster's movements," he said simply. "Although I can't help but feel flattered that you think me capable of building something as beautifully complex as that."

"Well if you didn't, who did?"

"I'm still trying to find that out."

"So you and your cronies weren't chasing it because it was yours?"

Tri-Klops shook his head. "I believe you owe me the courtesy of answering a question of mine now," he said, still keeping the softness to his voice despite the strain it was apparently taking. "Let's put the technicalities of alliance aside and I'll rephrase my earlier question – why were members of the royal guard trying to kill you?"

Jarik sighed. "Because they believe I killed Ray."

"That would be impossible – the firepower alone for such a devastating attack would never fit into a blaster small enough for our current technology."

"They aren't listening to reason," he replied bitterly.

"Then why doesn't Randor step in and explain? They'd _have_ to listen to him. He is the appointed leader." Tri-Klops turned his head away as he began to almost talk to himself. "Self-appointed, admittedly, with only the word of two of his friends to corroborate the fact that he was given such a blessing by the Elders, but still…"

"Randor kicked me out of the guard. He'll not stand for me anymore than _you_ will." Jarik snapped.

"He kicked out a man of your skill and experience? But you were innocent! And, if I may just correct you, I have already stood for you – against Skeletor himself, no less. He called me a fool for bringing you back, and has complained furiously about the time and resources it has taken to get you on the road to recovery. He wanted me to throw you from the mouth of Snake Mountain, no less."

Jarik had only ever seen Snake Mountain in person once before, but the countless pictures he had seen in war books back at the barracks were enough for him to understand.

The rock formation around the jagged mountain bore an uncanny resemblance to a giant snake that had coiled around it, with the open-mouthed head protruding from the top of the mountain forming the entrance to Skeletor's lair. The drop from the mouth to the ground hundreds of feet below would be more than enough to kill a man, and that was if you were lucky enough to hit the hard granite floor, or be impaled upon one of the razor sharp stalagmites. A fate worse than that would be to survive the fall and land in one of the many rivers of lava that spider-webbed across the landscape surrounding the isolated mountain.

"So why didn't you do it?" he asked reluctantly.

Tri-Klops turned his back to Jarik and busied himself with further, delicate adjustments to the actuator. "Because no warrior of your ability deserves to die at the hands of his own people, alone out there in the forest."

Unsure what to say, Jarik lay still against the soft bed and closed his eyes.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get back to work on getting your new arm up and running."

"New arm?" Jarik snapped his head towards his linen covered, unresponsive right arm, and could make out a definite arm-shaped bulge beneath the covering. "What do you mean, 'new arm'?"

"Your right arm was far too damaged to do anything but remove it I'm afraid," Tri-Klops said calmly as he strode over to the bed, actuator in hand, and pulled back the cover revealing a cybernetic arm neatly connected to his shoulder. "But I have done what I could to ensure you aren't at a disadvantage. As soon as this actuator is in place and the control stem initiated, you'll barely notice the difference – apart from the look of it and the additional strength of course."

With a careful movement, Tri-Klops opened a small hatch where the bicep would usually be and placed the actuator inside, securing it with a long tool that Jarik couldn't see properly as his head began to swim.

His enemy had saved his life, and fitted him with an arm when his would have been lost. Now he was poking around inside it, Jarik couldn't feel a thing and everything about the situation seemed like some kind of bizarre dream.

A slight tingling feeling within his shoulder joint brought him out of his thoughts.

"Try that," Tri-Klops said, closing the hatch. "Try to move your fingers."

"How?"

"Just as you normally would," he said, standing back. "Just don't think about it."

It was as strange and unexpected a sensation as Jarik could have imagined, but as he pulled on muscles he didn't have anymore, the slim metallic fingers of his right hand curled at his command.

"Good. That seems to be working just fine. Now then," Tri-Klops said, grinning at Jarik who lay staring with an open mouth at his new arm. "I think we're getting somewhere near an understanding, don't you?"


	12. Chapter 12

_**Chapter Twelve**_

The royal council meeting had been underway since sunset, and now, as the candles that lit the small chamber deep within the palace grew small, the matter of Ray-Dun's death, Jarik, and the Angorr was still the focus of conversation.

King Randor headed the table, whilst Man-At-Arms, Teela and Prince Adam, much to Randor's disapproval, sat before him.

Cringer, Adam's green and orange Eternian tiger slept peacefully by the door, helpfully blocking the draft into the windowless room.

"Duncan, I still fail to see the dilemma," Randor said sternly. "Jarik was dismissed from our services, with the option of returning as a tutor. An honourable position. It was no shameful dismissal, yet he chose to break in, attack one of our own, steal equipment, and then took it upon himself to join the battle in the evergreen forest. If he was killed during such a battle, then so be it."

"The dilemma, your majesty, is that a mob of our own men turned on him and from reading the statement given by a witness to the attack, they virtually tore him apart, and left him to die, yet they face no punishment."

"Why should they? He was an enemy of the state!" Randor bellowed, smashing his fist on to the table, making both Prince Adam and Cringer jump.

Cringer shot a look of disapproval at the King and promptly settled himself back to sleep.

"With all due respect, sire, I don't believe he is," Duncan insisted.

Randor snorted gruffly. "You mean _was_."

"We have been back several times, and failed to find a body. For me, that says he is still alive, somewhere. The thing is, sire, Jarik is a veteran who has known nothing but service to you. When you took that away from him, he had nothing left. No home, nowhere to go, and nothing to do. I believe that he made a tactical decision to take Dacker's armour, left him in no lasting harm, and joined the battle because it was, in his mind at least, the right thing to do."

"Preposterous!" Randor boomed, feeling his cheeks growing red.

Adam knew that his father and Duncan had known each other since before he was born, when he was Captain of the Guard, and not a king. Duncan had always been the one that reigned his father in when necessary, but tonight both men were stubbornly was firm in their own convictions, and the back-and-forth arguing and butting of heads between the pair was getting them nowhere.

Seeing his father and Duncan engaged in riveted stares, Adam spoke at last.

"Teela, did you know of Jarik before all this?" he asked weakly.

"I fail to see what that has to do with any of this," she told him. "The fact of the matter is—"

"Please," Adam said, cutting her off. Despite being the heir to the throne, he'd expected Teela to dismiss him. By the time she had turned sixteen, she was already an accomplished warrior in her own right, whilst Adam… Adam had been built differently, and looked down on him for it.

So many times he had wanted to grab her by the shoulders, shake her and explain that her feelings of indifference and disappointment towards him were wasted. He desperately wanted to tell her that he was He-Man, and have the cold eyes she directed at him turn into the admiring eyes that He-Man received. But he knew he couldn't. The true identities of He-Man and his faithful companion Battle-Cat, the cowardly tiger that was snoozing just feet away were known to only three others. Although he was now almost certain that Jarik had been in the hangar and seen him transform. That made four, and his biggest fear was that it was only a matter of time before it was no longer a secret.

"Why do you ask, son?" Randor raised an eyebrow. He'd never truly approved of Adam being part of the Royal council, but he understood that as he wasn't cut out for fighting, he needed to serve _some_ purpose within the royal family. He would, after all, be king someday.

"Well, the way I see it is that we have a great number of warriors within the royal guard. Too many to know them all by name. But you did know him, didn't you?"

"As his captain, yes," Teela replied reluctantly. "He was a talented pilot and a skilled, experienced fighter. A lot of the younger recruits, myself included when I first joined, looked up to him."

"So, forgive me father, but why are we being so quick to judge him and turn on him? It seems to me that he was a pretty good guy."

"Until he was dismissed at least," Man-At-Arms said bluntly, prompting a sigh from Randor.

"I am aware that you didn't agree with my decision, Duncan, but even you must admit, he was past his prime. A younger warrior might have—"

"There was a younger warrior there, and Ray-Dun died anyway. There was nothing either of them could have done. All his dismissal achieved was taking everything away from a man who had been loyal to you, and turned the whole city against him," Man-At-Arms yelled. "I'm sorry, your highness, but that was wrong."

"We're getting nowhere," Teela groaned. "I shall have the guards that attacked him under house arrest for the time being," she said. "If it please you, of course. That way no charges are formally taken, and it buys us some time to focus on the threat of this _Angorr._ What even is it, anyway?"

"Very well," Randor said, pleased to be away from the subject, if only for a time. "Duncan, what have you learned?"

"Well, since he spoke to us previously, Melaktha has been carrying out research on the creature. There isn't a lot to go on, and it's really only archaeologists such as himself that have even heard of them."

"What has he learned, Duncan? Knowing Melaktha as I do, I'm sure he'd have found something." Adam asked eagerly.

"He did," Duncan confirmed. "I don't know if it will help us stop it, but there was one book within the royal library, and old tome about the creation of Eternia that mentioned the name Angorr."

Duncan took a sip of water as his companions leaned in eagerly. "It seems that the Angorr was created when Eternia was new. It was said to have been the planet's first hero, much like He-Man today. It had no language, and no known loyalty but to the planet itself. Then, during a phase archaeologists call the 'second creation', when man as we know it appeared, it was said that the Angorr buried itself in a cave deeper underground than anyone has ever been."

"So, if this is true, why has it surfaced?" Randor asked.

"It's hard to say, although there are hints within the book that this Angorr may not be the first. Apparently there have been several over the course of Eternia's history, each dramatically different in appearance to the one before. One can only guess at what business this one has. Melaktha seems to think that it has surfaced to end its natural life cycle. But, the legend says that all the time Eternia Exists, an Angorr will exist with it."

Randor scratched at his beard again, deep in thought. "When was it last seen? Do we even know where it was last headed?"

Teela, who had led the last search for the creature whilst Adam and her father had led a small search party for the man she considered to be a traitor, answered the question.

"As strange as it sounds for such a large creature, I'm afraid we haven't seen a sign of it since it entered the Mystic Mountains."

"Then at first light, we will search again." Randor said flatly.

"Your highness, what of the search for Jarik?" Man-At-Arms asked tentatively, and received a cold glare from the king.

"You will waste no more time searching for him. His fate is his own, and I will not hear another word on the subject. Is that understood?"

Man-At-Arms looked down at the table, knowing there was no way he would change Randor's mind.

"Yes, your highness."

Adam shot him a concerned look as the king stood to close the meeting. As he turned to leave, Man-At-Arms leaned to whisper in Adam's ear.

"He didn't say that He-Man couldn't take up the search on his own."


	13. Chapter 13

_**Chapter Thirteen**_

"I'm not a fool," Jarik said, finally. There had been silence in the workshop for a good twenty minutes as Tri-Klops had made adjustments to a device that looked like a blaster with no handles. Jarik had watched for a while, wondering how the weapon could be used with no handles to hold whilst Tri-Klops had seemed content with the silence.

When Jarik had finally spoken, his unlikely companion put the blaster down and looked up.

"I didn't say you were," he shrugged.

"I know you want something from me. I'm just not sure what."

Tri-Klops didn't offer a reply, and turned back to the blaster he had been working on, leaving Jarik to ponder his situation. After carefully putting the device back together and placing it in a cupboard he crossed the room and sat on the end of Jarik's bed.

"Do you know what I'm not sure about?" he asked, releasing Jarik's arm restraints. "I'm not sure why you feel I want something in return for helping you."

Jarik bent his new arm at the elbow, and flexed his fingers. "Skeletor wouldn't allow you to do all this if it didn't serve him somehow."

"Allow me?" he asked. "You think Skeletor controls what I do?"

"Of course he does. He's your master." Jarik turned his attention from his arm and frowned at Tri-Klops who smiled slightly as if vaguely amused.

"Skeletor doesn't rule as Randor does. He doesn't demand loyalty only to him, and he encourages those who follow him to develop their talents." He smiled slightly again, this time at his captive. "He certainly wouldn't dismiss a skilled and loyal warrior because of his age."

"That's not why Randor dismissed me," Jarik insisted, pushing himself to a seated position.

Tri-Klops stood and adjusted the pillows so that Jarik would still be comfortable despite still having leg restraints. "Well, unless he blamed you for the guard's death, which we have already established would have been impossible, why else would he have done it?"

Jarik couldn't offer an answer.

"You know as well as I do that his failure to properly lead his people was what led directly to your fellow guards attacking you. I don't need to tell you that if my Doomseeker hadn't been watching and brought me to you, you'd now be food for whatever beast stumbled upon your body. I doubt the men responsible will even face any punishment – if they did, well, Randor would seem to be admitting he was wrong."

Jarik curled his lip and looked away, closing his eyes against the thought. Despite everything, despite his dismissal and the way the city had turned on him, despite losing everything he had ever worked for, and even his own comrades turning on him after he had tried to help them, there had always been a part of him that thought justice and righteousness would prevail.

"As you said, you're no fool," Tri-Klops said. "You know that the world isn't as black and white as Randor wants everyone to believe it is. Good and evil, right and wrong, you know it's not as simple as that. But, if you were to decide to join us—"

"Join you? Are you mad?"

"—then the extensive work I have put into saving your life would be somewhat vindicated in Skeletor's eyes, and your talents would be well rewarded. You'd be a hero again."

Jarik shook his head. "So that's what all this was for? To get me to join you?" he scoffed. "What happens if I refuse?"

Tri-Klops stood and crossed the room in broad steps, picking up his claymore. The blade gleamed in the stark lights of the workshop. "It's your decision," he said, testing the sword's weight as he returned to Jarik who tensed and readied himself to fight, despite his legs being held firmly in place. He just hoped the cybernetic arm was as strong as it looked.

To his surprise the attack never came, and when Tri-Klops lowered the sword and handed it to him, he looked at Tri-Klops with a stunned expression.

"Try it," he said, holding the sword by the pointed cross-guard as he pushed the handle into Jarik's new arm. "Try the grip. Feel how weightless it is with the cybernetics doing the work for you."

Jarik folded his fingers around the handle, surprised at how natural the movement was, and for a moment considered using the weapon on Tri-Klops, who made no effort to move away as he raised the sword. It would be easy. Just one swift strike with the almost weightless weapon and one of Skeletor's top minions would be no more.

"They won't thank you for it," Tri-Klops said, as if reading his mind. "They wouldn't even know it was you who killed me, and even if they did, do you think the good people of Eternia would forgive your perceived sins because you managed to kill the man who, despite his allegiance with the Lord of Destruction, looked past the battle-lines and saved your life?"

Jarik lowered the sword and loosened his grip on it as Tri-Klops took it back from him and slid it into a scabbard on his back.

"As you said, you're not a fool. You know that for a warrior such as yourself there's no going back after the way you have been treated."

"I'll _die_ before I join you," he said through gritted teeth.

Tri-Klops shrugged and turned away, approaching the door. The Doomseeker at his shoulder hummed as it stayed close to him. "It seems I misjudged you," he said, almost sadly. "I thought you were a warrior. It appears Evil-Lyn was right – they've taken the fight right out of you."

He pressed a button on the door's control panel and it slid open with a slight hiss of air. He walked out without looking back, and Jarik slumped back against the bed with a groan, feeling a familiar rage building inside him as the door closed.


End file.
